Bad News/Good News

by Annie Bryant

  The rest of the morning sped by. They walked for a while on Newbury Street before heading to the Public Garden. The swan boats were closed down for the season, but her father showed her just where they were, and they sat together on a bench for a while and watched people jog past. Charlotte saw a young family with a baby girl in a stroller. They look like we must have, she thought. We must’ve looked like that. She caught her father’s eye and she guessed that he was thinking the same thing.

  “Hey,” he said gruffly, getting to his feet. “How about heading over to Arlington Street? Should we see if the old place is still standing?”

  Miss Pierce opened the door, looking with a smile at Maeve, Katani, Avery, and Isabel. When they had approached her last week to ask her to help them with their Tower Makeover, she had had some misgivings. But Maeve could talk a rock into doing what she wanted, as Avery put it. And by the time the girls were done with their campaigning, they had Sapphire Pierce firmly on their side.

  “Now, Charlotte and her dad should be out all day—I know they have dinner reservations at about 7 o’clock. So you four shouldn’t have any interruptions,” she said. Marty started jumping wildly around their feet, and Miss Pierce laughed. “At least, not from any human beings. Marty—I can’t help with.”

  Maeve led the way up to the Tower, carrying the color copy with her. Katani had her measuring tape and her sister’s digital camera, and Isabel had a notepad and her sketching pens.

  Avery saw herself as designated furniture-mover. “Here! We can move this over here—and this over here…” She started dragging furniture from one place to another, before Katani held up one hand.

  “Avery, remember—we’re only planning today! Save your strength for next week, when we actually do the heavy-lifting.”

  For the next few hours, the girls worked together like crazy, planning the best way to make the Tower look like the cozy nook in Charlotte’s photograph. Katani measured the old barber’s chair that the girls had found up in the Tower months ago. “If I get stuffing material, we can cover this in it—and add fabric. I’ve seen some that looks almost exactly like the fabric in Charlotte’s picture on sale at the place where my mom and I go for sewing supplies.”

  Isabel sketched out the room as they talked. “What do you guys think?” she asked, holding up her drawing.

  “It’s going to work,” Maeve said judiciously, looking around her. “Now all we have to do is make it happen, and get Charlotte and her dad up here to see what we’ve done!”

  No. 170 Arlington Street was an old brownstone building just between Commonwealth Avenue and Clarendon Street. In front of the house, a small dogwood tree stood in a well-tended garden behind a low wrought-iron fence. Charlotte and her father stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the building.

  “I can’t believe it.” Her father was excited. “See that star sticker on the third floor window? That was your bedroom. Your mother put that sticker there when you were two. We’d been to the Planetarium in New York, and you wanted that sticker so badly.” His eyes misted over. “Wow,” he said at last. “How did that manage to survive, after all these years?”

  “Dad,” Charlotte said, squinting up at the windows. “You think we could ring the doorbell and ask to go inside?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know—” He looked at her uncertainly. “Part of me doesn’t want to,” he added in a low voice.

  “Please.” Charlotte’s voice sounded urgent. As soon as she said it, she realized—she needed to see the apartment.

  He looked closely at her, and then seemed to come to some sort of decision. “OK,” he said. “Let’s try.”

  They walked up the path together, and Charlotte rang the buzzer next to the button that said “Apartment #3.” After a few minutes, a voice came out of the speaker next to the buzzer.

  “Who is it?” A nice, pleasant-sounding voice. A woman, pretty young.

  “We…uh, I’m Richard Ramsey, and I’m here with my daughter Charlotte. We used to live in your apartment. Years ago, when she was a baby. She was hoping…” Mr. Ramsey hesitated. “We were hoping we could come up,” he said finally.

  “Just a minute.” Charlotte could hear some voices—a man’s, a kid’s. Then the woman came back. “Sure, come on up!” She sounded nice.

  Once they’d been buzzed in, a change seemed to come over Charlotte’s father. The hallway was dim and cool, with big black and white tiles and an old-fashioned elevator—the kind with gates that you pulled closed yourself. The walls were covered with flocked crimson wallpaper—very Victorian. Charlotte didn’t feel anything—no memories of this place. But her dad looked like he was in a trance. She followed him up the stairs, watching him closely.

  Four people were living in their old apartment now. Beth, the mom, looked like she was about thirty. She had a short, angular haircut and several pierced earrings in each ear. Her husband, Josh, had a ponytail and was carrying one of their two little kids in his arms. They seemed happy to meet Charlotte and her dad, and didn’t mind at all if they looked around.

  Charlotte kept waiting to feel something—some kind of memory. It was a nice apartment. There was a kitchen, a living room, and two bedrooms—one pretty good-sized. The door to the second bedroom was closed. “Nat is asleep,” Beth said with a smile, pointing at that door.

  They ended up spending more time there than Charlotte had expected. Beth and Josh were both writers, and they knew someone who taught with Mr. Ramsey at B.U., and before Charlotte knew it, they’d offered them tea and they were all sitting together at the table. It was nice, but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. This was the apartment where she lived for the first four years of her life—and it didn’t trigger anything. No memories. Her dad, on the other hand, was exclaiming over every last thing—the windows, the views, the light, the shape of the kitchen counter. He loved being there, it was clear.

  Just when they were about to leave, a baby started howling from the room with the closed door. “That’s Nat,” Beth said with a laugh. She looked at Charlotte. “Want to come with me to get him?”

  Charlotte shrugged and nodded, following Beth as she opened the door to the second bedroom.

  She blinked for a minute, getting used to the dim light, She could see the star sticker on the window. Then she looked around, and a feeling swept over her—it was almost like being dizzy, but more powerful.

  This was the room in her picture.

  Some things were changed, but the wallpaper was still the same. Over there, where Nat’s crib was—that was where the stuffed armchair had been. Where she’d sat with her mother—not just that one time, but hundreds of times. The smell…Charlotte half-closed her eyes, breathing it in. A mixture of old wood and a faint, deliciously musty smell. The light fixture on the ceiling…the closet doors…the little built-in windowseat…it was all there.

  We lived here, Charlotte thought wonderingly. Dad and I—and mom.

  She walked over to the window and touched the star sticker with one finger.

  “Charlotte? You okay?” Beth asked gently.

  Charlotte nodded. She didn’t turn around just yet. But strangely enough, she was fine. She felt so many different things all at once that it was hard to put a name to them all. Through the rush of emotions she was experiencing, she was aware of how solid the old oak floor felt underneath her. As if she had something strong to stand on—something that would never let her fall.

  “OK, guys. Done!” Maeve said later that afternoon, as the girls began packing up all of their stuff.

  They had a design, and now they had a plan, too.

  Next Saturday, Miss Pierce was going to figure out a scheme to get Charlotte and Mr. Ramsey out of the house again. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,” she had promised the girls. While they were out, the four of them would spring into action and make over the Tower room. When they were done, they were going to leave a note in the Ramseys’ apartment, telling them to go up to the Tower.

  “And that,”
Avery asked skeptically, “is supposed to change Mr. Ramsey’s mind about moving? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

  “Don’t you get it, Avery? It’s all about his emotions!” Maeve cried.

  “I don’t know,” Avery said, shrugging. “Maybe I’m not ‘emo’ enough for you guys. But I’m happy to move furniture, anyway. It’s good for upper-body strength.”

  “You are so unsentimental,” Katani chided her. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “I’m gonna take Marty for a run in the park—I’ll catch up with you all later,” Avery said as she snatched up Marty. “You, me, and the Frisbee. Right little buddy?” Way over the top with excitement, Marty thumped his tail madly against Avery’s arm.

  Maeve took a last look behind her as they closed the door to the Tower room. Well, this place had worked in special ways before, she thought, remembering how it had brought the Beacon Street Girls together in the first place. Why couldn’t it work its magic one more time?

  CHAPTER 20

  Making the Grade

  I have news,” Ms. Rodriguez told her homeroom on Monday morning. “Jennifer sent me an e-mail this morning. The Sentinel has posted the new staff list outside their offices. After class, you can all check and see the results.”

  This announcement created a loud buzz, as everyone had to speculate about whether they’d really taken everyone who’d tried, or who might not have made it. Ms. Rodriguez had to call several times for everyone’s attention.

  “We have several more announcements,” she told them. “Please—hang in there!”

  She motioned to Maeve to come to the front of the room.

  “Maeve wants to tell everyone about the work she’s been doing for a local homeless shelter,” Ms. Rodriguez continued. “Maeve—go ahead! The floor is all yours!”

  Maeve hurried up to the front of the room, hesitated, and then launched into the speech she’d practiced several times last night with her dad. “So, we’ve started working on a project to make blankets for homeless kids in a shelter in Boston. It’s called Jeri’s Place. It’s a shelter that provides a place to stay for women and children for as long as they need. They definitely need stuff for kids, and they’re really excited to be getting our blankets.” Maeve paused. “Anyway, originally we were just going to do this one time, but it’s turned out to be really fun, and now we’re thinking that we might try to keep it going even after we make our first delivery. So if anyone else wants to join us, come to Room 206 during second-period study hall.”

  Lots of excitement greeted this announcement, and Dillon gave Maeve a high-five as she walked back to her seat. She could feel her face turning pink. Now, whoever could’ve guessed that, she thought. Here she’d tried to flirt with Dillon about a million times—without results. But when she got up to make an announcement about the blankets—the one time that Dillon was actually not on her mind—he noticed her!

  Weird, she thought, sliding into her desk and giving Charlotte, Isabel, Katani, and Avery a thumbs-up sign. Guys are definitely weird.

  The crowd in front of The Sentinel office was three deep.

  “Go ahead,” Charlotte said to Maeve and Isabel. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  But she got swept along with them to the front of the crowd as others moved up behind her to get a look at the list.

  “Yay! I made it!” Maeve exclaimed, running her finger down the list to Kaplan-Taylor. “You’re on, too,” she assured Isabel, pointing to her name.

  Everyone was really excited. The Sentinel had accepted everyone who tried out, but some people had been placed in a group called “writers in training,” and others were full writers or even editors.

  “Hey, Charlotte. You got Feature Writer!” Maeve exclaimed. “You deserve it,” she added loyally.

  Charlotte stopped short. She followed Maeve’s finger—and sure enough, there was her name, in bold block print. Charlotte Ramsey—Feature Writer.

  “That’s—that’s a mistake,” she said, her mouth dry as cotton. “I didn’t submit anything.”

  Maeve and Isabel looked at each other. Neither of them said anything.

  “I’ll go find out what happened. It must just be an accident,” Charlotte said again. It was hard to push through the crowd, and people kept saying “congratulations” to her over and over again.

  How embarrassing! How was she going to explain to people that it was just an error?

  Jennifer was on one of the newspaper computers, frowning at the layout for this week’s newspaper. The Sentinel came out on the last Friday of every month, and on printing weeks, like this one, she was pretty busy. “We have to do something about this font,” she was muttering to herself as Charlotte came in.

  She looked up at Charlotte, trying to place her. “Here to help?” she asked.

  “Uh—no, not really. I mean, I’d like to…” In fact, the newspaper office looked exactly like the sort of place Charlotte loved best. “Jennifer, I’m Charlotte Ramsey, and I think—”

  “Charlotte Ramsey!” Jennifer exclaimed. She put her hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you, and welcome to The Sentinel. We’re so excited about your article. We really need a new feature writer, Charlotte. In fact, come have a look. I’m just laying it out right now!”

  Charlotte gulped. “My…my piece? You mean…” She hurried around to look at the computer monitor. Sure enough, there it was—laid out on the screen. Jennifer was adjusting the font size of the headline and playing with Charlotte’s name. Charlotte couldn’t believe her eyes. The piece looked wonderful set in print. Maybe I just shouldn’t say anything, she thought. Just let her print it, and not say a word.

  But that wasn’t honest. She hadn’t submitted it to the paper. She hadn’t tried out, and it wouldn’t be fair to pretend that she had.

  “Jennifer, I don’t know how this happened. I didn’t submit this. It must’ve—I don’t know how it got to you,” Charlotte stammered.

  Jennifer pushed her purple glasses up on her nose with a frown. She pulled away from the computer, studying Charlotte for a minute. “You’re kidding,” she said at last. “Wow. This is a first. We’ve had kids who begged us to put their stuff in, and we had to say no. But we’ve never had this happen!”

  Charlotte didn’t know what to say.

  “So—are you saying you don’t want to be on the staff?” Jennifer asked at last.

  Charlotte took a deep breath. “I did want to. More than anything. I was actually the one who wrote the Change a School Rule letter asking Ms. Rodriguez why seventh graders couldn’t be on the paper. But then…my dad is a writing teacher. We’re new here, and he started talking about taking a job in England next semester, and it just didn’t seem fair to try out.”

  “Fair? Not fair to us?” Jennifer asked. She had a straightforward manner that Charlotte really liked.

  “Maybe. And not fair to me,” Charlotte said in a small voice.

  Jennifer folded her arms. “Are you definitely moving?”

  “I think so. Not definitely. But probably.”

  Jennifer kept looking at her. “Do you want to work for the paper until you move?”

  Charlotte took another breath. “Yes,” she said. “I’d love to!”

  “Good. Case settled. We don’t mind how your piece got to us,” Jennifer added, “although from your point of view, I can see why you might want to figure that out! But we’re happy to have you on staff for as long as you’re here. Don’t worry about not being fair, Charlotte. Anyway, journalists often end up traveling a lot.” She laughed. “Maybe if you end up moving, you can be a foreign correspondent—you can send us features from England!”

  Charlotte felt elated, like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had wanted so badly to be on the paper. Jennifer’s easy-going, yet serious manner made anything seem possible. She was still mystified about her piece—who had turned it in? How had it ended up in the pile on Ms. Rodriguez’s desk? She remembered that she had specifically p
ut it in her notebook—she was sure of that! How did it get here?

  But the main thing was, she was on the paper—Charlotte was a Feature Writer!

  “So, can we run this on Friday? We love this piece,” Jennifer said.

  Charlotte looked again at the monitor. This piece had felt so personal to her. She hadn’t really wanted to share it. But that was before…before she’d gone with her dad to Arlington Street. Before she’d seen the room where she was a baby. Before she became a feature writer for The Sentinel.

  “Go ahead,” Charlotte said. Wasn’t that the point of writing, anyway?—sharing what you felt with other people?

  Maeve had felt like she was practically floating all day. Not only had Dillon given her that high-five in homeroom, but he’d actually stopped to talk to her after class. “That blanket thing sounds cool,” he’d said to her. “Nice going, Maeve.” And Riley gave her a thumbs up as she walked by his desk. Maeve noticed that he had cut his hair. He looked kind of cute.

  Then, to make life even better, there was her name on The Sentinel list. “Ask Maeve” was really going to happen! She almost had to pinch herself to believe this was real. Writing had always been a struggle for Maeve, and this was the first time she could remember a chance to write that she was excited about. Really excited about.

  Then, during second-period study hall, people kept coming in to oooh and ahhh over the blankets. Even Anna and Joline stopped in—though of course, they didn’t stay long. Maeve felt practically like a celebrity.

  Her good mood lasted almost all day—until math. Mr. Sherman handed back tests at the end of the hour, but he didn’t give Maeve hers. Not a good sign.

  “Maeve, can you stay after for a minute?” he said in his “I’m trying-to-be-casual-but-there’s actually-a-big-problem-here” kind of voice.

  So when everyone else filed out of the classroom, Maeve stayed at her desk, palms damp and mouth dry. She hated this feeling. She could remember dozens of other times just like this—sitting at her desk and sweating, waiting for the inevitable. “Maeve, I don’t know what happened.” “Maeve, I’m disappointed.” “Maeve, I’m concerned.” All different ways of saying the same thing. Her heart sank.